


Sammy Wears Short Shorts

by Shrinkynatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Macro/Micro, Unaware
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shrinkynatural/pseuds/Shrinkynatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam just wants some alone time to work on his tan. Dean doesn't want to be left alone. Big mistake, Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam just wants to spend a couple hours by the pool, soaking up some sun and taking a break from research before his brain melts out his ears. Dean, just a couple of inches tall and the reason for the research, doesn’t want to be stuck in the damn motel room on his own. They don’t even get Dr. Sexy!  


He waits until Sam comes out of the bathroom, wearing the tiniest trunks Dean’s ever seen. Sam walks over to the table to grab his iPod and tanning oil and that’s when Dean makes his move, jumping and grabbing onto one of the strings that dangles from Sam’s waistband. He’s successful, going completely unnoticed as Sam turns away and starts toward the door.

Every lurching step Sam takes causes the strings to swing. Dean flies out into open air with an unheard shout, clinging for dear life as he falls back toward Sam’s body. He crashes against Sam’s package before he’s sent back out. It’s a terrifying, painful cycle: bounce and swing, bounce and swing. He feels like he’s going to throw up and lose his grip at any moment. Thankfully, Sam stops moving and the string slows into a gentle sway that ends with Dean dangling just in front of Sam’s crotch. It takes a few moments for his stomach to catch up with the rest of his body and he’s seriously grateful they didn’t have lunch before this. 

They’re poolside now and Dean looks down to see the massive long chair that Sam’s chosen as his resting place. He gets a closer look when Sam bends over to put his iPod down. His heart leaps into his throat and he holds his breath until Sam straightens, bringing Dean back against his body. 

The smell of coconut suddenly threatens to overwhelm Dean and he coughs, looking around through watery eyes for the source. He finally looks up, past the trunks and the great plane of Sam’s stomach to see his brother’s hands sliding across his chest. The tanning oil, Dean thinks, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to shield his nose from the odor by tucking it against his shoulder. It only gets worse as Sam insists on covering every bare inch of skin with the stuff. 

He tries shouting when Sam oils up his legs, regretting his impulsive decision to be _outside_ without his brother even knowing to watch out for him. What if Dean falls off and Sam keeps walking all the way to the room? He’d be too busy searching the room to even think of looking for Dean out here. 

Everything starts to move again and Dean swings and bounces a few more times as Sam lies down on the pool chair. The bouncing turns into a rough slide as gravity and Dean’s weight pulls the string down until he’s left dangling on the downward slope of Sam’s package. He steels himself for the climb up before realizing his ordeal is far from over. Sam’s massive hands come slamming down on either side of Dean, thick fingers curling under the legs of his trunks and tugging at the bunched up material. His hips are shifting in time with the tugs and Dean begins to sway from side to side. It’s more of a roll and drag against the rough material but it still brings him too close to those hands for Dean’s comfort. 

He lets out a relieved sigh that gets caught in his throat as Sam curls one hand over his bulge—and Dean—and _squeezes_ as he works the material there loose and adjusts himself into a more comfortable position. Dean’s saved from the worst of the grabbing and pulling, he’s low enough that he’s tucked into the curl of Sam’s fingers and he just holds onto the string tighter so he won’t be dislodged, but there’s still leftover tanning oil on them and it gets smeared all over his clothes and skin. Quick thinking has Dean squeezing his eyes shut before it can get there and saving himself that pain. After that it’s just endless seconds of waiting while he’s thoroughly rubbed all over his brother’s (thankfully, oh so thankfully) covered junk. 

Once Sam is content with where everything is the hand lifts away and disappears back up his body. Dean wants to catch his breath but his arms are trembling and he can’t risk falling. He quickly clamors up the swell of Sam’s crotch, collapsing with a relieved groan at the top. His arms ache and his hands and legs have rope burn from where he wrapped them around the drawstring. He wants to just lie there forever but he knows he needs to get up and get Sam’s attention. 

He lifts his head and immediately drops it back down in dread. Sam is lying at a pretty steep angle and his stomach and chest are shiny with tanning oil. It’s going to be hell to climb that to get to his face. Dean doesn’t want to risk irritating him farther away and getting smashed if Sam swats first and looks later. He considers yanking out one of Sam’s earbuds but the bastard has them tucked up and out of the way—he’s probably afraid he’ll get a _tan line_ , god. 

Dean takes another moment to get his breath back and steel his resolve before climbing to his feet. He wobbles a bit and determinedly turns his thoughts away from just what his uneven ground actually is, then cautiously starts to walk. He’s perfectly fine on the trunks and makes his way up Sam’s lower stomach without incident (he uses the dark hair of Sam’s happy trail for traction and yeah, he’s not thinking about that either). 

He almost makes it to his brother’s belly button when he slips, feet skidding over the slick surface and falling flat on his face. Each attempt to get up on his hands and knees only results in Dean getting a face full of disgusting oil. His flailing must have been enough to be noticed because Sam shifts his hips, stomach muscles flexing under Dean in irritation. Dean slides down a little, then a little more when Sam arches his back as he shifts into a more comfortable position. 

He’s losing more ground with every twitch Sam makes and his hands are too slippery with tanning oil to grab Sam’s body hair to stop himself. Something presses on the back of his calves and Dean snaps his head around to stare in horror. The waistband of Sam’s trunks is right behind him, his brother’s squirming creating a gap between cloth and flesh that he is currently falling into. Dean flips onto his back, giving up trying to hold onto Sam and grabs at the trunks instead. It works and he stops with the waistband tucked under his armpits. 

Unfortunately for Dean, that’s when Sam decides to adjust the angle of his chair and sits up. He pulls up his legs and twists at the waist, unknowingly smothering his brother as he folds over Dean. It only lasts a few seconds but it feels like an eternity to Dean, struggling against the waistband pinned against his chest and the stomach flesh covering his face. His chest burns and his vision is just starting to get spotty when Sam _finally_ gets the chair how he wants it and lies back. 

The first breath of air makes his head spin and Dean just lies there, too worn out to do more than let out a weak groan when the next shift of Sam’s hips sends him sliding down into the trunks the rest of the way.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not dark inside Sam’s trunks. His brother is lying in a bright patch of sunlight and the material is just light enough to let a bit in. Because of this, Dean can see that he’s sprawled in Sam’s pubic hair and his bedmate is a frighteningly large penis that dwarfs Dean even while it lies there, soft and seemingly harmless. It curves over the slope of Sam’s crotch and Dean can’t even see the head of it. He thought he’d felt tiny before but _this_ …this makes him feel insignificant.

He lies there, contemplating his next move to get Sam’s attention because there’s just no way he’s playing house with his brother’s junk for the next couple hours. He needs to do something that won’t be mistaken for an annoyance, something to make Sam think. Dean turns his head and reluctantly eyes the wiry strands of pubic hair. They _are_ pretty sensitive, but he doesn’t have a lot to work with in here. 

Dean sits up (not thinking about how the soft girth of Sam’s cock creates a pretty high tent) and brushes his hand through the hairs before wrapping his hand around one. He needs to take a deep breath to prepare himself before very, very gently giving it a tug. A tremor ripples through the flesh beneath him like the aftershock of an earthquake; quite a lot to Dean but to Sam it should be perfect. Enough to notice, not enough to irritate. 

At least he hopes not. 

Dean grips the hair tighter and starts to pull. Short, short, short. Long. Long. Long. Short, short, short. Sam’s muscles twitch and jump beneath him but Dean just takes it for his plan working rather than the warning it is. He starts tugging again. Short, short, short. Long. Long. Long. Short, sho— 

Sam shoves his fingers into his trunks to chase that unbearable itch. One of his hairs must’ve gotten snagged somewhere and shit, it’s driving him crazy. He scratches at the area mercilessly, not realizing that he’s dragging his brother back and forth through his rough pubic hair. That Dean is also trying to grab onto his fingers doesn’t even register, but it does when Dean’s oil-covered body slips away and down onto his ball sack. He attacks the new itch as best he can—the trunks are too tight, he can only reach with his index and middle fingers to rub at it until it too disappears. Once he’s fully satisfied, Sam removes his hand and settles back to continue his tanning. 

From his new prison wedged partly under Sam’s balls, Dean tries to catch his breath. His body is sore and aching from Sam’s unknowing abuse and a nasty rug burn is starting to flare up all along his front. He doesn’t even have anything to show for it; he’s worse off than he was before! Farther from Sam, farther from freedom and fresh air. But he doesn’t know what to do now so he decides waiting and recovering is the best option. 

It may be the best, but it’s far from the most comfortable. The sun is beating down right on him and Dean starts to sweat. And even worse, _Sam_ starts to sweat. Puddles of smelly, salty moisture slowly make their way through the sparse hair on Sam’s balls right for him and there’s nothing he can do about it. Most of them hit his waist and disappear down to coat his lower body, but as they slick the way he starts to slip down a little more and they start to get in his hair and on his face. Dean sputters and wipes the tacky residue off, wishing Sam would just be tired of lying in the sun and go back inside. 

But you can’t tan your front and forget about your back. Sam feels that it’s time to switch sides and sits up all at once, his balls rolling forward until they’re covering all but Dean’s head. His brother’s desperate squirms provide pressure in just the right place and Sam gives a pleased hum. He’d been worried since they were the last pair in his size and certainly not his usual style, but these trunks were more than comfortable and fit against him snugly in all the right places. 

He leans over to grab the bottle of tanning oil and leisurely reapplies it to his shoulders and sides. This is just what he needed, he thinks. A little time to himself to rest and recharge and then he can tackle their witch problem and fix Dean in no time. Sam _does_ feel a little guilty leaving him alone in the room, but they’d already been on each other’s last nerves before this happened. And he made sure to put up the Do Not Disturb sign so Dean wouldn’t get any unexpected visits from the cleaning staff. 

Sam bends over just a bit to reach his back, the small movement enough to smother his brother completely. Dean flails with the renewed strength having one’s life in danger brings and his head begins to pound from the lack of oxygen and the crushing weight. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end. Will Sam even find him here or will Dean be washed away either in the shower or next laundry day, never to be found again? All their close calls and last-minute saves leading to this because Dean couldn’t stay put for two hours. 

He loses consciousnesses just before Sam sits back and shifts onto his stomach. He didn’t know it, but being tucked so far under Sam’s balls was a good thing. He’s sent tumbling as Sam moves and comes to rest on the underside of them, free of the crushing weight of his brother’s body that surely would’ve done him in.


End file.
